by Gayle Callen
James grimaced and chased her. He knew this was childish, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. He followed her out of the tiltyard, away from the torches. She slid deeper into the shadows, ducked around the stables, then slashed at him as he followed.
With a curse, James stumbled against the wall. He grabbed for a handful of her clothing, then heard a rip as she escaped.
He followed her towards the front of the inner ward, and this time she was forced to turn and meet his sword or be caught from behind. They fought
their way towards the gatehouse, ducking around the decorative trees he already regretted planting. Isabel never seemed to get tired. Her sword caught the skirt of his tunic and ripped it to his hose. He thought he saw her grin, and he wanted to grin in return. Damn, but this was fun.
With hard slashes he drove her back towards the casde, until she was pinned against the wall just beneath the entrance to the great hall. With his sword, he neatly cut the laces of her shirt, and the neckline sagged. Isabel looked down, distracted, and with a twist of his wrist, he sent her weapon skittering across the ground.
James pinned her to the wall and smiled. "My, my, Angel, you lose."
Her eyes glittered with triumph. "I was only practicing in the tiltyard. I'm not the one who lost control like a madman."
"Madman?" he echoed with a sharp laugh. Then he caught sight of her bare shoulder and the beginning swell of her breasts. Her skin shone like the moon against the shadows of her black hair and dark mysterious eyes. She looked like a goddess from another world, exotic, unreachable, seductive. His purposes changed with shocking intensity as the heat of desire blazed through him. Gazing deeply into her eyes, he pulled the neckline until it hung from her smooth shoulders and sagged below her breasts.
Her eyes widened and her breathing quickened. But she didn't fight him. Her searching gaze swept his face and dropped to his lips. With a groan, James ran his hands up her arms, then pressed her shoulders back against the wall. He looked deep into her eyes, then bent and took her nipple into his mouth. Isabel cried out, but he knew it wasn't with fear. She trembled and whimpered as he made love to her breasts as he wanted to do to her whole body.
He forgot where he was, forgot who he was. There was only Isabel and the dark passion that bound them together. He lifted his head and kissed her, then groaned when her tongue swept his mouth. His body roared with an urgent desire as his hands skimmed over her clothing and up beneath her tunic.
She lifted her leg, rubbing her foot along his calf. James caught her knee and lifted it higher, pressing between her thighs. The spell that was Isabel wove through his mind, filled his senses, quelling the memories of every other woman he'd known. He was lost in her hot mouth, lost in the possibilities of pushing her garments aside and—
Above them, they heard a woman's choked scream, and Margery yelling, "James!"
Chapter 19
James straightened and pressed his whole body against Isabel. She pushed hard against his chest and tried to kick him.
"Be still!" he ordered. "Unless you want all of our guests to see everything God endowed you with."
Isabel cursed under her breath, but she did stop fighting. He leaned over her as much as possible, while their hands tried to gather the edges of her shirt. She felt wonderfully soft and very feminine. If only there wasn't an audience—
"James!" Margery yelled again. "What are you doing?"
"Sword fighting!"
"With your wifeT
"I thought you said you heard all the rumors." While Isabel held the shirt up, James tried to tie the ragged neckline together.
"Are you finished?" Isabel hissed.
"I can't see what I'm doing, you know. Be still." After a moment, he stepped back. The garment sagged dangerously, and he saw a glimmer of her collarbone. "Do not make any elaborate movements."
Glaring at him, Isabel pushed him aside and picked up her sword, keeping her other hand at her neckline.
"I don't think that sword is yours," he said, looking warily up towards at least ten people on the stairs, all craning their necks to see what was going on.
She glanced over her shoulder as he followed her. "I had every intention of replacing it. Perhaps if you gave me back my own—"
"Not now, Isabel," he said.
James followed his wife up the stairs. His guests stumbled back into the great hall as a group, their expressions ranging from horror, to shock, to amusement. He couldn't blame them. Isabel was disheveled but proud as she placed the sword on a table. She swept the murmuring crowd with a cool, haughty gaze. James winced as a seam gave at her
shoulder and he caught a glimpse of skin. Then she marched upstairs and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.
Every face turned to stare at him, and James grinned. "Is there a problem?"
Avery blew out a breath and shook his head. "I think Sarah and I will retire for the night. I've had more.. .entertainment than I can take. By the way, your tunic is ripped in a revealing place."
James glanced down his body and remembered Isabel's sword slashing through his garment just above his thighs. Good God. He clenched his jaw, but gave a gracious half-bow. Sarah's face was blotched with color, and she was fanning herself weakly as she was led away, trailed by her flock of ladies.
Curious servants began to clean up the evening's festivities. James ignored them and sat down before the fire, wincing from an ache in his side. He hoped Margery would go so he could sulk in peace, but she stood right next to him.
"James, would you escort me to my bedchamber?"
He sighed. "Did you forget the way?"
"I would like to speak with you in private."
"Margery—"
"James!"
He stood up and bowed as he presented his arm.
"Oh stop that!" she said crossly, heading for the stairs.
Isabel hid in the shadows of a corridor outside Margery's bedchamber. She pressed her back against the stone wall and prayed no one would come her way. She knew she shouldn't care what her husband and his sister said to each other, but she had to know where she stood in the game she and Bolton played. Tonight he had been angry, but unable to stop himself from—touching her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force from her mind the sensations of his tongue licking her breast.
If she barely breathed, she could just hear the murmur of their voices through the door. Thank goodness her husband wasn't a quiet man.
James slouched in a chair before the hearth and stretched out his legs. He heard his sister sit down beside him.
"James?" Margery said tentatively.
"Hmm?" He didn't take his eyes off the fire.
"For someone just fighting his wife with a sword, you didn't seem to hate it. In fact, you looked as if you were taking her clothes off one piece at a time."
James gave his virginal sister a shocked look. "Margery!"
Her cheeks blushed red, but she still gazed grimly at him.
He finally shrugged. "She may look like a man in those clothes, and inspire me to great heights of anger, but once I see what's underneath, I can't help but remember she's a woman."
Margery winced and closed her eyes. "Oh, James."
"Forgive me, sweetheart, but you asked."
"You're bleeding."
"Where?" he said, examining his hands and legs. There was a tiny cut across one thigh. "She has good aim."
"But James, your wife tried to stab you...thereV
"What's a little bloodletting between married people?" he asked, giving her a rakish grin.
"You are not fooling me, James Markham. What is going on? I hear rumors you've married some wild woman, and I think they can't possibly be true. But when I arrive, you're trying to kill each other!"
"She wasn't trying to kill me, just to work out some frustration."
"Why should she be frustrated? She's married to you, she's wealthy—" "She's miserable. She's doing her best to humiliate me in every way she can."
"Why?"
Margery asked in confusion.
James sighed. "Revenge."
"Revenge? Is that why she robbed you?"
"Well, she hardly needed the money—although I don't think she yet realizes what a grand heiress she truly is." He explained the feud between their two families, and the obsession of the Earl of Mansfield.
Margery gaped at him. "I cannot believe that man raised his daughter to kill you."
"She was his only child. I don't think she ever had a friend, besides the knights and squires she trained with. I'm fostering the squire who helped her attack me."
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"No, he has nothing against me. He was only loyally trying to help his mistress. And I didn't want to separate them. I have a hard enough time imagining how she grew up, let alone depriving her of her only friend in the world."
"But James, how do you sleep at night? Don't you worry she'll harm you in some way? When I talked to her earlier, she was very upset."
"Upset? What did she say?"
Margery shook her head. "The words aren't as important as the fact that she is miserably unhappy. I—I feel sorry for her."
"You don't feel sorry for me?" he said teasingly.
She didn't smile. "James, you have to talk to her, to come to some compromise."
His good humor faded. "Margery, do not interfere. You know nothing about what's going on in my marriage."
"I want to know," she said softly. "I want to help. You're both so unhappy."
"Listen to you, the expert on marriage," he said, forcing a light tone. "Does this mean you're ready to discuss a betrothal?"
She put up her hands. "You're changing the subject."
"People think I'm a fool to give you so much say in your future. There have certainly been enough marriageable men asking my permission to court you." He suddenly paused. "Margery, is there a chance that my ...unusual marriage will interfere with your prospects?"
She hesitated, and that was enough for James. He swore softly.
Isabel heard footsteps coming down the corridor. She waited as long as she could, praying whoever it was would turn away. But the footsteps became louder, and someone started whistling. She fled down the hall towards her bedchamber, almost glad she couldn't hear anything worse.
Margery sighed and looked into the fire. "James, you're wrong. What man would care who my brother was married to?"
"You're naive, sweetheart. Many people care."
"She's the heiress to Mansfield! And she's a misguided, confused girl—"
"Girl! You make it sound as if I married a child. And as for confused—"
"James, imagine what she must feel like in a strange place, with no one to turn to except a husband who either ridicules her or fights her."
"But I didn't—"
"You need to be more patient with her. 'Tis obvious you feel some attraction."
"You don't build a marriage on 'attraction,' Margery. Maybe you need to start considering more men as potential husbands so you'll learn this."
"None of them appeal to me. I'll know, James, just as Reynold seemed to know."
The comfortable atmosphere between them vanished. James narrowed his eyes and stared into the flames as if they could sear his memories away. "I do not wish to discuss him."
"James, you're both my brothers. Can you imagine how I feel, having you hate each other? You know that Edmund's death was a training accident, that Reynold did not mean for him to die."
"Reynold seduced my betrothed away from me," he said, turning and glaring at his sister. "How should I forgive that?"
"And you had her kidnapped—"
"For her protection."
"—and she almost died."
"But I didn't know!"
Margery sighed. "James, I am not blaming you. You did what you thought was right during the war. And I cannot deny that it was successful, that we lost none of our lands as so many others did. But can't you accept that neither Reynold nor Katherine planned to fall in love and betray you, just as you did not mean for Katherine to be endangered?"
James frowned, but didn't answer.
"I just ask you to think on what this rift between you is doing to our family."
In a low voice, he said, "Even if I wanted to speak to Reynold, he would not see me. It is for the best."
Margery shook her head sadly. "I won't accept that. Someday, I want to have both of my brothers at my wedding, celebrating together."
James took his leave and walked to his bedchamber. He found his wife dripping wet, wearing only a linen cloth. Annie was emptying the tub. He silently motioned Annie to the door and she said her good-nights.
Using a second towel, Isabel dried her hair, keeping her eyes on the floor.
"That was quite a performance," James finally said, taking a seat before the hearth.
She ignored him.
"You couldn't wait to get up here and bathe, could you?"
When he saw the small smile curve her lips, he gripped the arms of the chair to keep from leaping to his feet. He didn't know whether he wanted to shake her or kiss her passionately. Anger and desire were so mixed up inside him, he didn't know what to think anymore. He wanted to rip off the towel and force her into his bed—but what kind of man would that make him? He'd become just like the
man who'd already stolen her virginity from him, the man who'd hurt her.
Instead James seethed with a helplessness he'd never felt in his life, as his wife turned her back and dropped the towel. Her hips were exquisitely round, her back a delicate long curve. As she reached for a clean shirt, he could see the edge of her breast and the lithe muscles of her arm.
Why didn't he just seduce her? She did not seem afraid anymore. What held him back from the only thing that made marriage to Isabel worthwhile? Nothing in his life felt right anymore. He was out of control—hell, he'd just used a sword against his wife, when with one slip he could have killed her.
And he thought she enjoyed it as much as he did.
The shirt fell in long folds down Isabel's body, hiding what he craved. She walked towards him, carrying a blanket. He didn't even pretend to look at her face.
"Are you sleeping before the fire," she said, "or am I?"
Very slowly, he let his gaze travel up her body. She looked at him directly, unafraid, but her cheeks were flushed red.
James stood up and stepped aside. Isabel lay down on the rug before the fire and wrapped herself in her blanket. Was he being a fool, waiting for her to come to him?
At dawn, Isabel awoke and lay still, listening to the sound of her husband breathing. She thought of the conversation she had overheard, and inside she ached. Bolton pitied her. She would have preferred his hatred. And as for Margery, Isabel should be thrilled she had upset even more of the Boltons. But the thought of ruining an innocent girl's chance at marriage made her feel sick inside. What did they all want from her? She couldn't be the woman they expected her to become. By the saints, Bolton only remembered she was one when he saw her naked.
The sky was almost fully alight as James kissed his sister.
"Wish me Godspeed, brother," she said.
"Where are you off to?"
She smiled. "Reynold has invited me to visit."
He frowned. "You could stay here longer, you know."
"Thank you for the offer, but I don't want to intrude on a newly wedded couple. Good luck!" She turned towards the castle, where Isabel stood in the distance. "Take care, Lady Isabel."
For a moment, Isabel did nothing, and the tension in James's stomach heated up. She finally nodded, and his sister gave a relieved smile.
Margery mounted her horse and fell in beside Sarah's litter. Avery raised his arm in salute, and their small party of travelers started under the gatehouse. James sighed, wondering what tales would soon be spread through the countryside about his new wife.
He mounted up to lead the small party of knights to Mansfield Castle. As Isabel approached, he scowled down at her choice of his tunic.
<
br /> "What about the dress that was left for you?"
"Bolton, you can't imagine that I could travel in such a thing."
He grunted.
Isabel looked over the column of men, then frowned and stepped near his horse. She stood close to his leg, and stared up at him with dark, serious eyes.
"Is William journeying with us?" she asked.
"I decided that he should continue his duties here. I certainly don't trust the two of you together yet."
She shrugged, but made no comment. She mounted her gelding, swinging her long leg up and over. James found himself watching the way her thigh was encased tightly in dark hose. Even her
legs did things to his insides. He was disgusted with himself.
The first day's journey was uneventful but tiring. Rain fell steadily for much of the day, and the coldness seeped down James's neck until he occasionally shivered. Isabel was stoic as usual, and never complained.
Night fell, and they made camp deep in the forest, where the rain dripped through the trees rather than poured. James had a very small, enclosed tent erected for Isabel and himself. The rest of the company built tree branch shelters, and everyone settled into sleep early, for no fires would stay lit. James ducked inside the tent and pulled the flap closed behind him. He found Isabel curled with her back to him, wrapped in a blanket. How unusual, he thought dryly. Damn, but she infuriated him—and intrigued him. He didn't have the first idea what to do about it.
They approached Castle Mansfield late in the day, when the sun had already begun to set. James could see soldiers walking the battlements, and guards at the drawbridge. That eased his concerns, knowing he wouldn't have to start with military
basics. As for the residence itself, he only hoped things were not worse than he imagined.
Their horses clattered onto the drawbridge. As they entered the gatehouse, he looked up to see the portcullis hanging over his head—rusted, but still deadly. They passed through the outer ward, with still another curtain wall to go. He glanced at Isabel, who had an eager, excited look in her eyes. He'd only seen that expression when facing her across a sword.
The gatehouse leading to the inner ward was manned by grim-faced soldiers, who bowed respectfully—to Isabel, he was sure. And then James forgot about his wife as he saw the condition of the inner ward. Animal dung was scattered everywhere. Pigs rooted through a nearby garden, because of a broken fence. The dovecote looked abandoned.